


home is where breakfast is (and you)

by Emlee_J



Series: One Hundred and Seventy-Two Centimetres [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Cook Tobio, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Excellent Cook Hinata, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: “I’m making dinner, you’re interrupting,” Tobio tries, after managing to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There’s only two ways this can go – either Hinata’s going to get mad again, because not only is there actually no dinner, but also basically no kitchen. Or Hinata will burst into laughter and tease him mercilessly.“You are?” Hinata says, with a raised eyebrow. “What, with a blowtorch?” He asks, eyeing the burnt streak of soot up the wall above the stove where Tobio had temporarily set the pork alight earlier.-In which Kageyama would do anything, within reason, for Hinata's home-cooked breakfast every morning - but just this once, he wants to be the one sweeping Hinata off his feet with a meal so good he'llcry.Unfortunately, he can't cook.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: One Hundred and Seventy-Two Centimetres [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931680
Comments: 70
Kudos: 932
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	home is where breakfast is (and you)

**Author's Note:**

> it's okay tobio - I too, cannot cook to save my fucking life.

Tobio stares in despair at the absolute bombsite his kitchen has devolved into.

The pork has become charred strips of coal in the pan. There’s at least three smashed eggs on the countertop and two more on the floor. Bread crumbs are strewn across every available surface. The rice sits in a weird glob of half stodge and half raw grains – which is impressive, considering he used the rice cooker.

Only the vegetables, neatly sliced, look edible in amongst all the mess.

Blue eyes flick to the clock sitting innocently on the wall and ticking down to his doom.

One hour. He has one hour to fix this.

He grabs the handle of the saucepan to throw away the charred remnants of the pork, only for it to be stuck fast to the hob, glued to the surface by a mixture of grease, flour and egg yolk. With a grunt, he yanks harder – only for the handle to come clean away from the pan and he’s sent sprawling backwards, socks slipping over a flour dusted floor, until he’s flat on his back with an undignified shriek and a thump.

Tobio lies there for a moment, dazed, until that slowly fades into annoyance, then anger, then fury (and there goes the saucepan handle, flung across the room) and then finally resignation, as he buries his face in his hands and groans into his palms.

This is absolutely ridiculous. All he wanted to do was make his boyfriend dinner.

He lets his hands fall away from his face with a groaning sigh and stares up at the ceiling with a deep, constipated frown as he considers his predicament.

It had it all started when Hinata had agreed to move in with him.

(He says ‘agreed’ when, really, it was more Hinata basically spent every waking moment he had spare from the Black Jackals at his flat until eventually Tobio just gave him a key and called it a day.)

And Hinata has always, as far back as Tobio can remember, been the one actually _interested_ in food out of the two of them.

That isn’t to say Tobio doesn’t like food. He does. Loves it even. Spends several hours of the day thinking about it sometimes.

But Tobio is also a simple man and he’s plenty content with rice and curry and anything curry-flavoured.

He makes sure he eats well - he has to after all, he’s a professional athlete – balancing his meals and keeping treats to the absolute minimum. He’s not a fussy eater, despite his preferences. And he isn’t completely useless, he can make the basics. But he’s been spoiled over the years by several meals being prepared for him whenever the Alders were travelling for games and, more recently, by Hinata whenever they were home together.

Because Hinata _loves_ cooking.

He’s always paying attention to nutritional values, to protein levels and fibre percentages and the amounts of minerals and vitamins and amino acids (whatever they were.) When they were teenagers, he ate well and carefully and now, as an adult, he cooks. And he cooks _well._

At first, in the snatches they had together in the year between graduating high school and a flight to Brazil, Hinata’s cooking was… it was okay. He could make all the basics, and they were tasty and enjoyable but it wasn’t outstanding or anything.

And then he came back from Brazil and he was suddenly a culinary genius, or something.

Apparently, having to spend two years cooking for himself every day had fashioned Hinata’s cooking talents into a fearsome weapon.

(He says weapon, because there are few things Tobio won’t do in return for Hinata making him breakfast and it’s a fatal flaw that Hinata exposes on an almost daily basis at this point.)

Hinata makes a large variety of meals now, all nutritious and packed with flavour, both traditional Japanese and Brazilian dishes and sometimes a combo of the two. And occasionally other recipes from his teammates in the Jackals who came from other countries.

And Tobio loves to compete with Hinata on almost every single thing under the sun, even stupid things like thumb wars under the duvet, because it’s fun and Hinata gets into it as much as he does but Tobio just can’t bring himself to fight to be better on this one thing.

Maybe it’s because it’s not something he’s particularly fussed about being good at himself.

Maybe it’s because the time it would take to be good at it would detract away from valuable volleyball playing time.

Maybe it’s just because Hinata always makes sure to tailor his cooking to Tobio’s tastes (he didn’t know he even did this, at first, until Hinata got the plates the wrong way round one day and had to swap them when Tobio nearly choked on the spiciness.) It’s that everything he makes is full of love and care and is absolutely delicious and Tobio likes food – loves it, really – spends many hours of his day thinking about it, and Hinata in the stupid apron he wears with sausages all over it while cooking and-

Maybe Tobio’s just a little bit obsessed with it all. Possibly.

But even so, even though he doesn’t want to compete with Hinata over it, he also _hates_ to lose. He hates that he can only make simple things, even if Hinata’s favourite meal was the easiest thing of all – egg over rice.

And so, today, on the first day that’s come around in ages that he’s going to be home alone in the flat for a solid three hours before Hinata is due to come home (the Jackals have a fan and press event today and it’s not due to end until late) - Tobio is going to cook dinner. And it’s going to be _good._

Well, that was the plan at least. Until he got so flustered with the amount of timing needed for everything that he burnt and overcooked everything in sight, with the exception of the vegetables, and got ingredients just absolutely everywhere until the kitchen is buried under a mountain of foodstuffs.

Tobio puffs out one more sigh, and allows himself another moment to wallow in self-pity before starting to heave himself to his feet.

Just as he hears a key being slid into the lock.

With alarm, he whips his head to stare at the kitchen doorway, then the clock, almost giving himself whiplash.

Forty-five minutes. He's supposed to have _forty-five minutes_ before Hinata was home.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, scrambling manically to his feet in his race to the door, one foot slipping so wildly on an egg yolk he almost tears a hamstring.

Cursing wildly as he stumbles into the hallway, he just manages to barrel down it and slam his shoulder against the front door to the flat just as it’s cracking open and Hinata’s “I’m home,” is being sung through the wood.

The door crunches against its frame, and there’s a shocked shout from behind it.

“Not yet!” Tobio pants, fumbling with the handle to re-lock the door from his side so Hinata can’t get in. “You can’t come in yet!”

 _“What?”_ Hinata hollers back, incensed, _“why the hell not?”_

“Because!” Tobio fumbles for an excuse. “You just can’t!” Nailed it.

There’s a thump against the door. _“Kageyama! What’s going on? Let me in!”_

“Nope!” Tobio yells over his shoulder, dashing back into the kitchen. Infuriated bangs echo after him, and then his phone starts vibrating madly in his trouser pocket as Hinata tries calling him instead. He digs it out and tosses somewhere into the depths of the flat, skidding to a halt in front of his workstation in the kitchen.

Okay. This is fine. He can salvage this. There has to be something he can do with all of this mess and a chopping board full of beautifully sliced carrots.

He rummages through the cupboards and is dismayed to find that they are completely out of rice – the last remains of the previous bag now a ball of gloop in the bottom of the rice cooker. Similarly, they’re basically out of eggs, with only one remaining intact in the egg basket. There’s flour still, about five different bags of the stuff, but Tobio can barely remember which one he’s supposed to use in his panic and he grabs at a bag at random, staring at it manically as though the small print will provide him with all the answers he needs.

Out in the hallway, the banging has ceased, and is replaced with clicks and clunks and judders as the door is shaken in its frame until Hinata apparently manages to bully the lock into submission. Tobio feels his shoulders creep up around his ears in preparation as his boyfriend finally makes it into the flat and storms into the kitchen, fire personified.

 _“Kageyama!”_ Hinata yells, heated and frustrated and eyes spitting fire, “what the fuck is going… on…?” The flames in his voice die away quickly, replaced swiftly by confusion as he stops in the middle of the kitchen, his bag slipping from slack fingers as he takes in the devastation around him.

“I’m making dinner, you’re interrupting,” Tobio tries, after managing to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There’s only two ways this can go – either Hinata’s going to get mad again, because not only is there actually no dinner, but also basically no kitchen. Or Hinata will burst into laughter and tease him mercilessly.

“You are?” Hinata says, with a raised eyebrow. “What, with a blowtorch?” He asks, eyeing the burnt streak of soot up the wall above the stove where Tobio had temporarily set the pork alight earlier.

“Ummm…” Tobio hums, shuffling a little on his feet. Now the initial panic of Hinata being home early is starting to wear off, embarrassment is starting to curl hot and unpleasant in his gut.

This is not how it was supposed to go. Hinata was supposed to come home to a deliciously cooked dinner – something warm and hearty and full of care, like Hinata did for him so many times. It was supposed to be a surprise, something Hinata never would have expected. He was supposed to come into the kitchen with big brown eyes like saucers, face open and glowing, not looking at the counters like they’re toxic waste dumps.

Hinata picks his way across the hazards splattered across the kitchen floor, until he’s reached the stove and eyeing the saucepan – still glued to the hob sans a handle – in rapt fascination.

“Why didn’t you just make something simple?” Hinata wonders, sounding absolutely baffled.

“Because that’s boring!” Tobio bursts out, squeezing the flour bag he’s still holding until a hole appears in the side of it and a thin trail of white starts pouring onto the floor. “I didn’t want to make you eggs over rice _again!”_

“I like eggs over rice, though,” Hinata points out. “It’s my-“

“Your favourite, yes, _I know_ ,” Tobio says through clenched teeth. He feels humiliated and frustrated and dangerously close to losing his temper – which he hates, because it’s so rare these days that he feels this way, anymore.

Hinata makes his way across the kitchen again until he’s in front of Tobio, tugging the mangled flour bag away from his hands and placing it on the table so it stops sprinkling a small mountain across Tobio’s feet. He doesn’t say anything, eyes soft and patient and waiting for Tobio to continue.

“You always make dinner,” Tobio says eventually, voice tight and resigned. “No you _do_ , I only do it when you’re not here now,” he continues, when Hinata goes to interrupt. “You make dinner _and_ breakfast, and it’s always healthy and _good_ and I just-“ He breaks off to run sticky fingers through his hair – sending it into even more of a disarray. “I just wanted to do the same for you,” he finishes, a little lamely, eyes drifting down and away.

“You big dummy,” Hinata says, but when Tobio goes to retort, instinct kicking in to argue back, his face is just soft and fond. “I didn’t get good at cooking overnight you know, I had to practice a lot.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tobio mumbles, his brow creasing together, feeling a little indignant.

“So, I started with basics and worked my way up,” Hinata continues. “But I think you went from basics to uhh… a level ten difficulty?” He guesses, making a sweeping gesture at the food splattered room.

“It was one of _your_ recipes,” Tobio returns, folding his arms. “From one of your notebooks? On the side? I just followed that.”

But Hinata, for once, doesn’t rise to the bait that this might be his fault. “Yeah, I can see it,” he says, a cheeky little grin spreading over his face as he points to the open book propped up in the corner. “Let me guess, you couldn’t keep up with all the different timings and panicked right?”

Tobio feels his facial muscles start to ache with how hard he’s frowning, because yes, that’s pretty much exactly what happened. There were so many steps and so many things to do all at once he started to lose track. And then things started to burn.

Small hands tug at his arms until he reluctantly lets them fall away from where they were folded against his chest.

“We’ll fix it together,” Hinata says, slipping his hand into Tobio’s much larger one and tugging him back over to the ruined stove and countertops.

“I’m pretty sure everything we need is... well it’s all over the floor actually,” Tobio admits, turning in a little circle. He feels his partner squeeze his hand and let go, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly instead and he feels some of his irritation start to melt away. He still feels embarrassed, but the fact that Hinata is yet to laugh at him, beyond gentle teasing, is making him feel a little better about it all. It’s sort of comical now, really, now he starts to properly take in the enormous mess he’s made.

“We can make something else,” Hinata compromises, rummaging around in the cupboards and the fridge and drawing things out, making a little pile on the counter.

It takes both of them to wrench the ruined saucepan from the stove, which Hinata frisbees across the room out of the way. There’s a brief, perfunctory clean-up of the mess across the counters, and Tobio finds himself relieved that Hinata can be just as much of a slob as he is sometimes and never really gets fussy over mess.

Once they have space to work again, Hinata rolls up his sleeves (allowing Tobio to ogle at his toned forearms appreciatively) and grins up at Tobio. “Right, let Chef Shouyou guide you, Cookingyama!”

“Is that a pun?” Tobio groans, but he feels a small smile tug up his lips anyway.

The meal they make over the next hour or so is simple, and easier than what Tobio had been attempting, but it was still harder than anything he could make on his own. Hinata demonstrates and instructs with ease, knowing exactly how Tobio likes things explained, and everything feels warm and domestic and _good_.

The kitchen table is a just as much of a disaster zone as the rest of the room, becoming a dumping ground once Tobio had run out of space on the counters, and they’re both too hungry to think about migrating into another room. So, they end up leaning against the counters, side by side, shovelling in their dinner with eggshells and breadcrumb-flour-balls strewn around their feet.

“Thank-you for making me dinner,” Hinata says when he finishes, stretching up on his toes to press a wet kiss to Tobio’s cheek with an overly exaggerated ‘ _mwah!’_

 _“You_ made dinner,” Tobio protests, trying to frown but failing as the smile across his face overpowers it. Hinata does this to him sometimes. “I just did what I was told.”

“No, _you_ made dinner. Well, tried to anyway,” Hinata insists, nodding at the mess around them. “I just helped at the end.” He tugs Tobio’s bowl from his hands and puts it in the sink along with his own. Then he steps back over to Tobio and winds his arms around his neck and draws him down so he can kiss him properly. Tobio sighs and hugs him close.

“I love you,” Hinata murmurs against his lips, “even if you can’t cook.”

“I can too cook,” Tobio argues immediately, but his chest is too light with happiness to put any force behind it.

Hinata snorts against him, and ends the argument effectively by stuffing his hands into Tobio’s flour-streaked hair and slipping his tongue past Tobio’s sticky, smiling mouth.

The next morning, Tobio takes advantage of Hinata’s long day previously and manages to rise before his partner. Normally, it’s Hinata who wakes first, and the smell of breakfast wakes Tobio soon after, but this morning Hinata is tired, so he’s still dead to the world when Tobio blinks his eyes open.

He slips into the kitchen, still a bit of a mess from last night, and makes what he makes best.

Quietly, he re-enters the bedroom, and kneels beside the bed so he can slide his fingers through a shock of incredibly messy red hair. Hinata snuffles in his sleep beneath his ministrations, a soft sigh punching out of him.

“Wake up, lazy, I made breakfast,” Tobio says to him softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple.

“Hmmmm,” Hinata hums into his pillow. “What d’you make?” He mumbles, voice scratchy and thick with sleep.

“Toast,” Tobio supplies.

“And?”

“More toast.”

Another sigh, and sleepy brown eyes blink open, syrupy warm. “Just a pile of toast?”

“Start with the basics, I think you said,” Tobio says solemnly, and he manages to keep it together for all of five seconds before he starts shaking with silent laughter and then Hinata’s joining him – giggling away in time with Tobio’s gentle huffs.

“Okay, okay,” Hinata yawns once he’s composed himself, shoving himself upright in bed and scratching at his scalp, sending his atrocious bedhead into even more of a wild orange disarray. “I can fill you in on how to cook an egg while we eat your mountain of butter soaked bread, I guess.”

“It’s healthy bread,” Tobio points out as they pad into the kitchen together. “Wholegrain.”

“Small mercies,” Hinata grins, stuffing a slice into his mouth once he’s seated at the table. He leans over and tugs the cup of tea Tobio’s bringing to his mouth to kiss him instead – lips slick and salty with melted butter.

“Thank-you for making me breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for nareh
> 
> if you would like to scream at me about Haikyuu, i'm over on twitter @Emlee_J


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